Author's Note: Guess who's been watching Billie's old music videos? *grins*
Disclaimer: Rose Tyler may belong to the BBC, but her (poor) song herein is mine, as are any rotten tomatoes you may wish to toss.
Red Wolf and the Songbird
Pete finally managed to disengage from Jackie, caressing her cheek one last time then deliberately settling her into a chair before sitting himself on the couch opposite, waving Rose and Jared to seats, as well. The other three Resistance men had gathered around the broken dinette table and were quietly watching the Boss and the strangers.
Pete tore his eyes from his late wife's doppelganger and turned a weak smile on his daughter's, beside him on the couch. "Hullo, Ulva. Didn't think you'd be coming back."
Her smile was slightly stronger, if tinged with rue. "Wasn't planning to. We got dropped off at the wrong bus stop."
He snorted. "And now you need a lift to the station?" He glanced at Jared, perched on the edge of the other chair. "Pete Tyler."
"Jared Wolfe," came the reply – then a grin. "No relation."
Another soft snort, then he turned back to Rose. "Is he the one...?"
They both glanced at each other, erm-ing and um-ing. "Yes and no," Rose finally came up with, which was no help at all.
"Another parallel?" guessed Pete.
"No," Jared took over. "I'm a... a clone, born an adult, with the original's memories intact. But I'm staying with Rose. Can we just leave it at that?"
Pete's eyebrows flared, and he looked back at Rose again, seeming to see under her calm surface to the turmoil within. "Anything I can do?" he asked after a beat.
Her smile this time was genuine, and appreciative, even as she shook her head. "Just help us get back home," she replied.
"Of course," came instantly. "But you'll have to wait a few days. I'm not up here just for you; there's a mission afoot."
"What's going on?"
"We've known for a while that the bears have been developing some new weapons technology. We got word from our friend that it's ready for field testing, and has been installed on the heavy cruiser Leipzig, which is putting in to port at the Liverpool shipyards for a few days for supplies before heading out to the Atlantic for that testing. We've been asked by our western friends to try to get a look at it."
"Do you have any idea what it is?"
"Nope."
"Why 'bears'?" Jared was sidetracked, curious.
"Eh? Hitler's always associated himself with bears – well, with the first name Bernard, how could he not?" Ignoring the amused looks shared by Jared and Rose, Pete turned to the table. "Johnny, let's see those drawings."
Johnny, a short bloke with the air of someone who'd missed more than a few meals, started to stand before hesitating. "Boss, are you sure...?" His eyes darted around at the three newcomers.
"Hey!" Pete bristled. "She's the one who saved all our arses in Southhampton three months ago. So yeah, I trust her – and anyone she vouches for. You don't like it, there's the door."
"Sorry, boss, just bein' cautious," Johnny mumbled after a beat. He pulled a handful of papers from an inside pocket and handed them to Pete, who spread them out on the battered chest doubling as a coffee table while the other toughs gathered round, bringing their chairs.
"We have a way onto the navy base," Pete began his briefing, "but from there...?" One of the papers was a satellite view of the base, and he tapped the docks. "The Leipzig is tied up there. We already know we can get exterior shots from this building, but we need to get on board somehow."
"Do you know where the target is on the ship?"
He pulled out another sheet, a fuzzy, much-copied deck-by-deck schematic of the Leipzig, and pointed out a small room buried a couple of decks directly below the bridge. "We think it's here." He glanced sideways at Rose. "I don't suppose your little gizmos are working?"
She shook her head, pulling out her mobile phone and checking anyway. "Too far out of range, still."
"Why is that?" Jackie wanted to know. "I mean, we were bouncing around London before. Why do we have to be right on top of the rift here?"
"The tech boys think it's because of London – the bomb, I mean. The radiation from ground zero is interfering with the signals."
They brainstormed for some time, discussing ways and means, discarding every idea. The cruiser was going to be undermanned for the next twenty-four hours, as sailors were released for shore leave and other very short-term shore duties, but still patrolled by the naval security police.
Finally, one of the other Resistance men spoke up for the first time. "Boss... what about her? She could get us on board." He nodded at Rose.
"Absolutely not!" Pete shot back. "Forget it. Too dangerous."
The room fell silent at his flat denial. Jared noticed that Rose wasn't meeting his or anyone else's eyes. He was about to ask what the man had meant, when she softly asked Pete, "Is she still General Schultz's mistress? Is he still promoting her singing career?"
He flinched. "Yes." Then he turned and stared at her. "No! You're not thinking of doing it!"
She looked back levelly. "It's the only thing we've come up with that has any chance at all of working. You need to find out what that weapons system is before they start using it on you – or the Americans."
"Rose..." Jared got her attention. "You're not talking about impersonating this world's Rose, are you?"
"It's the only chance we've got! I can get them on board." Her voice was full of certainty on that score, though it shook with what he knew was only mock courage.
"Don't you mean 'us'?" he asked her simply. "I go where you go. Besides... I've got a promise to keep."
^..^
The day that Kapitan Lange's life changed forever had been the most ordinary day in the world, right up to the moment shortly after sunset when, coming back from a large, delicious dinner at the Liverpool Marinestation Offiziers-Club, washed down with liberal amounts of good dark German beer and brandy, he happened upon an odd scene at the top of the gangway. Someone was trying to gain access to his Leipzig. A very pretty, very blonde, very female, very drunk someone, who – when she turned her laughing brown eyes at his abrupt demand for an explanation – he was astonished to recognize: the English pop-singer mistress of General Schultz of the British Occupation Forces Headquarters in Birmingham. He'd met them, very briefly, at a dinner only last month.
What in the world was she doing here? And without the General; only a single hapless skinny soldier as a bodyguard, who'd apparently given up arguing with her already.
"Captain!" she wobbled over, and he caught the whiff of English gin. "Please tell your silly boys to stop pointing their guns at me. I just want to see your boat!" She clutched at his arm, conspiratorially. "I've never seen a boat this big before!"
He blinked. Did she mean that double-entendre, or is she that drunk?
Does it matter? Now this is the way to spend time in port!
He waved the Marine-Polizei back with a sharp command to return to their posts, and smiled winningly down at her. What was the silly whore's name? Ah, yes, Rose. They're calling her the English Rose on the radio. "I would be honored to show you around the Leipzig, Fraulein!" He growled at her bodyguard to wait on the wharf in her car, but the dog obstinately continued to silently follow behind. I'll get rid of him later.
He took her up to the bridge, where she ooh'd and aah'd appreciatively – and without comprehension – over all the screens and equipment, and the view of the decks from the windows. She may have been drunk, stumbling and slurring her words, but she was surprisingly slippery, managing to keep just out of his wandering hand's reach. Still, it was her idea to go below, so perhaps she was just being cautious where they could be seen.
It was his dumb luck to blunder in to the Officer's Wardroom with her when there were still a dozen or so of his officers there. Of course, they all recognized her immediately, as well, swarming around and petitioning her to sing one of her execrable British pop songs to them. She didn't look any more comfortable with that suggestion than he felt, surprisingly, but he couldn't be bothered to figure out the reason. Entertainers always love showing off at a moment's notice. Perhaps this will get her to loosen up a bit more, before we get to my quarters. So he joined in the pleas, making sure someone poured her a drink, as well.
"All right, all right!" she finally gave in, after exchanging a strange look with her bodyguard, still keeping close behind her. "But not one of the songs from the radio. Tell you boys what – I'll make a deal with you. I'll sing you a new song, one I haven't recorded yet – but only if each and every one of you promises not to tell a single soul about it. Not the song – and not my being here, either. Promise?"
As she looked around to collect their promises, the reason struck the Kapitan: She's not supposed to be here at all! If word gets back to the General, she could be in deep trouble. Well, I'm certainly not going to tell on her – as long as she makes it worth my while. So he added his promise, loudly, encouraging the others to join in on the secrecy pact.
"OK," she went on. "This song has meant a lot to me the past few years. I hope you like it. I'm not sure how well it will sound a capella, but just..." she laughed nervously. "Just imagine there's a guitar player here, OK?" Again, she exchanged quick glances with her bodyguard. Am I going to have more trouble getting rid of him than I thought? What's going on there? wondered the Kapitan, but then she began a soft, slow tune – quite unlike the noise played on the radio – and he forgot the bodyguard.
I'm dreaming of the life I once led
Just trying to find my way back to you
I've got to keep on searching
Running down paths we once knew
Where are you?
You caught me every time I fell
We fit together so right
But It's so hard to keep believing
In dreams that fade away in the night
Where are you?
We could change the world together
You're the missing piece of my heart
But I can't follow dreams forever
Just to see them fall apart
Where are you?
Just beyond my reach
Far beyond the stars
Right behind me, right beside me
I look but you're not there
Where are you?
Where are you?
Her lovely contralto faded away into an almost awkward silence, then the officers applauded loudly, not sure what to make of the strange song but appreciative of the singer, at least. She blushed and thanked them, then set down her untouched drink and turned towards the door, saying "I really should be going now. Captain, can you see me out?"
Lange sprang to her side again, ignoring all their protests, worried that she was slipping away – but once out the door she clutched his arm again, smiling and flirting, then making a game of darting away at random, leading him deeper into the ship. He caught her at a locked door and made her pay the price, stealing a kiss before she squirmed away. Then she crossed her arms and tapped a foot, looking petulantly up at him. "Show me what's in here!"
"No, Fraulein, I have a better idea. My quarters are just up above here, and much more comfortable, ja?"
"But I want to see what's in here!"
Some stray bit of sober caution made him pause, and he glanced at the door. It was the control room for Projekt Sternchen. He looked back at her, confused, and she turned up the volume on her flirtatious smile. "Please?"
He shook his head, smiling back and reaching for her again. "Fraulein..." he began chidingly, when he heard a step behind him. That damned persistent bodyguard again. He turned to growl at him to get lost...
…and found himself staring down the barrel of the bodyguard's pistol. "I insist," the skinny soldier said pleasantly, in a distinctly British accent.